


Every breath you take

by azziria



Series: Club can't handle me [8]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:05:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azziria/pseuds/azziria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve takes a bullet, and Danny has an epiphany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every breath you take

**Author's Note:**

> What exactly would it take to get these two to admit how they really feel about each other? Some shamelessly self-indulgent h/c written whilst I was ill in the run up to Christmas. Chronologically, comes some time after _Shut up and drive_ , but can be read as a standalone.

Steve's been missing for eight hours when they find him, chained to the wall of a disused warehouse and unconscious in a pool of his own blood. Danny's heart clenches and an icy wave of nausea hits him as he goes to his knees next to his partner, desperately afraid of what he'll find, but Steve's still breathing, albeit shallowly, and there's a pulse, weak and thready, but it's a pulse, and Danny thanks whatever gods there might be that Steve's so fucking tough. He shouts to Kono to call an ambulance, to Chin to find some bolt cutters, and then he sits on the floor in the dirt and the blood and holds Steve's hand until the paramedics arrive.

And all he can think of is that it's a good thing that the scumbags who did this, who _chained his partner up like an animal and left him to die_ , it's a good thing that they're already in the custody of the HPD, because if Danny got to them he'd rip them to fucking shreds with his bare hands.

* * * * *

Danny's spent many hours in hospital corridors and relatives rooms, taking witness statements and comforting distraught relatives (including, once, a partner's wife, not a memory he cares to revisit too often). But he's always had the luck, never been the one waiting the long wait while a loved one walks the line between life and death in the ICU.

Until now.

And if Danny hadn't realised it before, he does now: Danny's world now orbits two suns. And while one is giggling with her friends in a sunny schoolyard somewhere, the other is here, lying white and still in the ICU, attached to a fuckload of machines and monitors, with no guarantees that he'll come out alive, let alone without permanent damage. And Danny wonders what sort of detective he is that it's taken something so big to make him finally figure out just what this thing between him and Steve really is.

* * * * *

It's three days, three interminably long days before they let Steve come round. Danny spends those days in the chair at Steve's bedside, allowed to stay if he promises not to get in the way, and fuck, why would he, these people, these doctors and nurses, they're miracle workers, right? They're the only chance Steve has of coming out of this in one piece, why would Danny do anything to jeopardize that?

On the morning of the third day he wakes, neck cricked, knee aching with that old, dull ache, to find Steve watching him. Still deathly pale, still hooked up to all the machines and monitors, but awake, and with him.

"Danny." His voice is small, and cracked, but he's tracking, he recognizes Danny, and that's all good. Danny scrabbles for his hand, grabs it and holds it tight. "It's OK, I'm here, man. I've got you."

"Did we...?"

"Yeah, we got them. We got them." Danny forces a grin, goes for lighthearted when lighthearted is the last thing he's feeling. "No thanks to your stupid solo stunt, asshole. You and me, we're having words about that when you get your sorry ass released from here, 'kay?"

That gets a ghost of a smile, weak and barely there, but a smile nonetheless, and Danny feels some of the weight that's been sitting on his chest for the last three days shift.

* * * * *

Predictably, Steve is not a good patient. He submits to all the tests, all the poking and prodding and fussing, with an outward show of patience that doesn't fool Danny for one minute, then tries to discharge himself the minute Danny heads home for a change of clothes. Danny walks back in to find Steve sitting on the side of the bed arguing with the doctor, and one look tells Danny that despite his attitude and bravado Steve is actually having to work pretty hard just to stay upright. Danny points out to him yet again what a stupid asshole he's being, how the doctors do actually know what they're doing, that Steve nearly _died_ back there, what, not three days ago? and that he'd better _fucking well_ do as he's told and get back into bed or Danny's transferring back to HPD and never coming anywhere near him and his ridiculous _fucking_ task force ever again.

That last seems to get through to Steve, and he meekly (and, Danny suspects, not ungratefully) gets back into bed.

Eventually, they compromise. Steve will be allowed home if someone stays with him. Stays with him 24/7, the doctor adds, looking pointedly at both of them. He's obviously got the measure of Steve. A smart man, Danny thinks - they clearly don't let just anyone into medical school. Steve rolls his eyes, huffs, but acquiesces. That went down far too easily, Danny knows - either Steve is up to something, or (more likely) this whole thing has taken more out of him than he'll ever admit.

There's a brief but heated altercation during which Danny thinks he might actually have to cuff Steve to the wheelchair ("Hospital policy, Commander McGarrett, you ride in the wheelchair as far as the doors or we don't let you out") and then Steve's free to go. Danny drives him home as carefully as he drove baby Grace home from the hospital the day after she was born, provides a shoulder to lean on to help him into the house ("Hey, Danno, I knew you being vertically challenged had to have it's uses..." "Yeah, shut it McGarrett, or I'm dumping your ass and letting you crawl the rest of the way"), and gracefully accepts defeat in the matter of bed versus couch.

Hell, Steve alive and breathing and in one piece on the couch in his own living room? Right now Danny counts that as enough of a win for one day.

* * * * *

Steve falls asleep on the couch almost immediately, a measure of how much he's not admitting to. Danny resists the urge to just sit and stare at him, he's done enough of that the last few days, but this is different. Danny feels wrung out, almost light-headed with relief and lack of decent sleep. He knows he should go and lie down, take a nap, because Steve's clearly out for the count, but he can't bear to go upstairs, to be anywhere he can't hear Steve breathe right now. So he potters around for a bit, tidies some stuff, pulls together the ingredients to make a meal later, but Steve draws him like a magnet, and eventually he admits defeat and sits down on the floor next to him. He watches Steve's chest rise and fall for a while, strong and regular, letting his mind go blank and drift, before finally pillowing his head on his arms on a spare bit of couch and passing out.

He's woken by Steve struggling to sit up, doing his best not to disturb Danny and failing miserably. "Whoa, man, what do you think you're doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing, Danny? I'm getting up."

"Oh no you're not. The doc said bedrest. Which means that anything you want, I fetch, OK?"

Steve scowls at him. "I need to piss, OK?"

Danny's tempted to suggest a bottle, just to see what reaction he gets, but thinks better of it. "OK, then, here's how it's going to go. I'll escort you to the bathroom, you'll do what you need to do, and then I'll escort you back here, where you will lie down again and resume resting. Got that, princess?"

Another scowl. "Fuck it, Danny, when the doc said 24/7, he didn't mean 'joined at the hip'..."

"Not negotiable, McGarrett. I'm in charge here, so what I say goes, or I'm taking you straight back to the hospital." Steve's face says 'you and whose army?', but they both know that right now he's as weak as a kitten and Danny could take him easily. Danny grins at him. "So come on, big boy, suck it up, and let's get moving."

He helps Steve up, walks him across the room with his hand in the small of his back, waits in the doorway while Steve takes a piss. "A little privacy, Danny?" Steve grumbles, but Danny just shakes his head, "Nope, not happening. Anyway, it's not like you got anything I haven't seen before. Why, you experiencing a little performance anxiety there, Stephen?" But Danny sees how Steve has to brace a hand against the wall to steady himself, sees how he shakes with the effort of holding himself up, and no, Danny's not giving him any privacy any time soon, not unless he's horizontal and preferably comatose. And if Steve's not cool with that, well, tough shit.

* * * * *

The thing is, Danny knows he's got a big streak of mother hen in him. It's born of being an eldest sibling, and the advent of Grace and fatherhood has caused it to flourish and grow. He knows he's fussing, knows it's going to drive Steve crazy, but he can't help himself. So he stands over Steve while he eats something, counts out his meds for him, then puts his foot down firmly when Steve starts to drift off again.

"Bed, McGarrett. You are _not_ sleeping on that couch tonight, you need some proper rest." Steve mutters something about bossy bitches and control freaks, but does as he's told and lets Danny pull him up off the couch and propel him towards the stairs.

By the time he hits the top of the stairs Steve's breathing hard and his face is gray and pinched. He makes no protest when Danny pushes him down to sit on the bed, but manages a breathless half-laugh when Danny drops and starts to unlace his boots for him. "Could get used to this, you on your knees for me, Danno." Danny appreciates the attempt, grins up at him, "In your dreams, McGarrett". He helps Steve out of his clothes, and by the time he's checked his dressings Steve's almost out, muzzy from the meds and drifting on the edge of sleep. Pulling the sheet up over Steve, he resists the urge to drop a kiss on his forehead (because this is his partner, the guy he fucks and gets shot at with on a regular basis, not Grace, dammit) and gets up to go. "I'll just be next door if you need anything."

But Steve catches his wrist, "Danny, stay," he says, voice soft and slurred with fatigue, and Danny's torn between doing what he knows is the the sensible thing, which is to give Steve some space to rest, and doing what he's loathe to acknowledge that he has a bone-deep need to do, which is stay right where he can keep checking Steve's alive. Finally he admits defeat, gives in to his baser instinct, makes a show of reluctance to cover the truth. "OK. But only if you promise to behave." That gets another smile, another weak attempt at a sassy comeback. "I promise. Don't worry, your honor is safe with me, Detective Williams." "Yeah, like you're really a threat to that right now," Danny mutters as he strips off his clothes, and by the time he's naked and slips between the sheets, Steve's already gone, spark out and boneless.

Danny wakes at two in the morning, disturbed as Steve shifts in his sleep, and lies awake for a long time, just listening to Steve be alive next to him.

* * * * *

Breakfast is pancakes, because that's what Danny feels like making, thank you very much, nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that they're Steve's favorite. He takes a tray up to bed, endures the inevitable bitching about not getting crumbs on the sheets, and then they eat in companionable silence. Steve has more color, which is good, but his eyes still have dark circles, and his hand shakes slightly as he lifts his fork to his mouth. He eats about half his pancakes before admitting defeat, which is more than Danny thought he'd manage and less than Danny's prepared to admit is enough, but it's a start.

Steve gives a tired smile and lies back on the pillows, attempts a lazy stretch and tries to hide a wince at the pain the stretch obviously elicits. "Breakfast in bed, Danny - I like it. Maybe I should get shot more often..."

And that's the point when, out of the blue, it hits Danny, all the stress and worry and tension of the last few days suddenly released and focused down onto that one _idiotic fucking statement_. He shoves the tray away and pushes himself up off the bed, trying to keep breathing, trying not to raise his voice. "You think you should get shot again? Have you any idea how _not funny_ that is, Steve? You fuck off on your own, _yet again_ , you don't wait for back up, _yet again_ , you don't wait for me, _yet again_... I thought you were dead, Steve, dead on the floor of that _fucking_ warehouse. And then I sat in that hospital for three days waiting for you, and now you think it's _funny_ to make jokes about it?"

Steve looks alarmed, which is good, Danny thinks, because maybe this time he'll get it into his stupid Neanderthal skull that he can't just _do_ things like that.

"Danny, I'm sorry, I did't mean to..."

"That's just it! You never _mean to_ , you just head off into whatever ridiculous, crazy plan you've just dreamt up, you throw yourself into danger, and you forget that there might actually be people around here who care about you, who might just want you to stay alive and in one piece!"

And there it is, it's out there, laid bare, and since there's no going back, Danny runs his fingers through his hair, drags his hand down across his face, takes a deep breath and goes for it.

"I'm sorry... it's just that this... this thing we've got going on here, I... I kind of hadn't realised how important it was to me until now. These last few days, with you in the ICU, thinking you might die..." He clams up, runs out of words, suddenly naked, raw and as vulnerable as he's ever been, sure he's making a complete ass of himself here.

Steve just looks at him for a long moment, really looks, face blank and eyes wide in that way that means he's processing something, then he ducks his head sideways with that shy half-smile that Danny sees so rarely, the one behind the bravado and the bullshit and the game face, and says "Yeah, well, maybe you were a bit late to the party, Danno."

Danny's gut gives a funny twist as his brain gets up to speed with that particular piece of intel, as a whole load of things suddenly click into place. He thinks once again that he must be a pretty crap detective, because not only did he fail to detect that this thing he has for Steve had become so much more than just lust, but also he somehow seems to have failed to notice the heart that his partner has apparently been wearing on his sleeve for some time now.

In one fell swoop all the fight, all the anger drains out of him, and he lets the corners of his mouth tug up in a sheepish smile. He knows when he's been a fool, isn't afraid to admit it, not now that he knows... this. “Yeah, well, maybe I was. Maybe you’re not the only idiot around here.” He leans in, pushes the tray back towards Steve. “Anyway, can you manage another pancake, princess? Only you’ve got to get your strength up, I’ve got plans...”

“Promises, promises, Danny...” Steve comes back at him, but he’s smiling straight at Danny now, an uncomplicated and – yes, OK, Danny’s got it bad - frankly gorgeous smile that knocks years off him and twists Danny’s heart up in all sorts of ways that he’s never going to admit to in male company.

And Danny thinks that he may have been late to the party, but he’s right there now, and that while this thing between him and Steve is never exactly going to lack complications (because, hey, the guy's still a socially-retarded borderline-psychotic adrenaline junkie, however romantically-inclined Danny might feel towards him), it sure as hell will be an interesting ride. And after all, where's the fun in an easy life?


End file.
